


Love of Death's life

by Campertrash



Category: Jessica Jones (TV), Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 16:49:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14085318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Campertrash/pseuds/Campertrash
Summary: It might be a Jessica Jones fic, it might be an original work. Let me know which you would prefer.





	Love of Death's life

An abusive home isn’t a good place to grow up, especially when your dad is a serial killer that got off on a technicality. Worse so when he decided to take the frustration of being caught out on my poor mother and myself it didn’t end well. She got hung from the door of the barn by barbed wire. What I got was much worse, because she at least got the sweet release of death. I had missed her death by a few hours by being at a friends house (my mother wasn’t exactly an angel mind you) and came home to see her standing by the barn door. That was according to my 15 year old mind trying to rationalize it anyway. When I got to her I saw the horror before me, and before I could call to my father for help I heard the crack of a gunshot, and a cold wet feeling just below where my heart is. I collapsed face first onto the lawn, grasping at the wound on my chest. I heard the cackle of my father coming up to me. He kicked me over, my hands falling limply to my sides. He lifted a shovel and slammed it down onto my sternum, shattering ribs and collapsing a lung. I coughed up blood, and thought I heard the screech of a train whistle. My vision blacked out on me, the pain a distant memory, and the train whistle grew louder. Then I heard the smooth voice of a young man “You don’t belong on this train yet son, seems someone down south fucked up your ticket. Figure you deserve something more than PTSD for this though. I’ll let it be a surprise what you’re given, but since I gotta stay on schedule you mind sending your old man down here?” He clapped his hand on my shoulder and I felt a light burn. Then it grew to the side of my face, I inhaled in shock, the barn was on fire, and there was the sonofabitch leaning on his shovel. I stood up and grabbed an old and rusted folding saw he kept lodged in a board. I walked toward the sorry excuse for a man before me. Hand clutching the wooden handle, he panicked and shot at me again, the round grazed my cheek as far as I could tell. It started to backpedal begging for it’s life, crying for mercy. A monster such as this deserves no such deed. I grabbed him by the collar and put the saw to his jugular. With a pull I embedded the saw in his neck, it getting stuck about ¾ of the way down the blade. With a jerk I ripped it the rest of the way out and left him to frantically grab at his wound. As the life faded from his eyes I heard the train whistle again, this time sounding closer than ever. Sure enough it was at the tracks just behind our home. A great black behemoth that spewed an even blacker smoke. It was no ordinary train, that much I knew. I sprinted over to it and stopped when I saw the man from before standing outside of the great locomotive. He spoke again “Thanks for the help son. I’ll make sure he’s taken care of.” He motioned to the face of my father in a passenger car behind him, I did a double take to see the body of my father still lying on the lawn. I was going to ask a question when I felt the ground below me rush closer, my vision fading again. I heard the engineer again “Aw Hell, looks like your injuries caught up with you after all. You deserved better than the hand you got dealt. Tell ya what, after today my two hundred years of service ends. If you can stay alive until midnight I’ll make sure you get a second chance at life. Think you can will another two hours out of your vessel?” I let out a wheeze trying to say “But I feel fine.” Clearly feeling and being fine are very different.  
He let out a chilling laugh, it echoed in on itself “That’s the spirit Robert. I got a schedule to keep. I’ll be back in a while, good luck.” With that he climbed into the locomotive and blew the whistle, the screech of it was of a million souls being burned of their sins all at once. I shuddered feeling suddenly cold. Forcing my eyes to stay open I kept my hand in an iron grip around the saw in my hand. I must’ve been there for an hour, but when I heard it again I knew it was too late for me. The whistle of the black locomotive, the black iron steed powered by the souls of the damned. The brakes screeched and I heard the sound of two boots hitting the ground and walking over to my broken body “You only had one job Robert. Good news for you is though the powers that be have decided that you get to do better things with your death. You see, rather than throw you into purgatory you’re going onto a work release program. 150 years of service, you cannot die, and after the service is done you live out the rest of your natural life. That is as soon as you reach the physical age of 20. After that you’re done aging for a good while. 150 years to be exact. SO! What do you say?”  
As evidenced by the fact I can tell that story I obviously told the man a solid “Yes.” It has been a solid 146 years since then, I’ve basically been a grim reaper with a set of powers unlike any reaper that was normally heard of. I was given powers beyond anything the world had ever seen, and my stomping ground has moved from good old Louisiana to New York.


End file.
